Blood and Gingerbread
by CanaryCry
Summary: Birdflash Christmas fic 2013. Dick Grayson intends to spend Christmas alone with an apartment full of alcohol, when he's forced to foil an attempted kidnapping that leaves him critically injured. After being saved by an unknown person, the harsh reality of the past six months since the end of the Reach invasion is turned on its head.


**A/N: It's still Christmas in some parts of the world, right? Warnings for underage drinking, suicidal thoughts, Dick being an emotional wreck. Also violence but I figure you guys wouldn't be too worried about that since Young Justice is (I refuse to use "was") an action cartoon.**

The TV murmured softly in the background of Dick's apartment as he drained the last few drops of his drink. It was Christmas Eve, but the only concession he'd made acknowledging that was swapping his usual beer out for rum-spiked, store-bought eggnog. It was a little nauseating, nothing like Alfred's special recipe, but he'd have to make do this year. It was his own fault for turning down Alfred and Bruce's suggestions—borderline orders in Bruce's case—to join them at Wayne Manor for Christmas this year.

Dick poured himself another glass and downed it in an instant. He could almost see Alfred's disapproval at his behaviour, but Dick was home alone with nobody to judge him. Just as he'd planned. Spending Christmas surrounded by people just didn't feel right this time.

Dick reached for the eggnog carton again, his hand shaking. Drinking so much had probably been a bad idea; alcohol made him restless. The last time he had gotten smashed had ended with him climbing the Wayne Enterprises building in his civvies, only to be found by a patrolling Batman. That one had been fun to explain.

Oh, what the hell, he decided, filling his glass. If he was going to be alone and miserable and hating himself anyway…

He barely felt the burn as the eggnog slid down his throat. He felt jittery, restless. The TV was playing some ridiculous feel-good movie he used to watch with Bruce as a kid. It didn't match his mood at all. His coat and scarf were hanging near the door. It would be easy to just pop out for some fresh air, get away from the stifling atmosphere of his apartment for a while.

The winter air outside slapped him awake as his fingers fumbled with his scarf, finally managing some kind of loop to keep his neck warm. The streets were mostly empty as this time of night, luminescent windows dotting the dark, rectangular shapes of buildings on either side. Most of the curtains were closed, but Dick still managed to catch glimpses of families eating together. The neighbourhood was home to many people struggling to get by, but for one night the burdens of the outside world didn't seem to matter… to anybody except Dick.

Flecks of snow started tumbling down, a few pricking his cheeks until he pulled the scarf up to cover the bottom half of his face. He was beginning to regret this decision.

He spotted a young family through a window: a red-haired man was tossing a flailing toddler in the air while a blonde woman watched with laughter in her eyes. Dick forced himself to keep walking, stumbling over a crack in the sidewalk in the process. Shit, he must be drunker than he thought.

It wasn't hard to imagine Wally and Artemis in a similar scene a few years down the track if things had gone differently, if Blue Beetle hadn't—no, it wasn't Blue's fault. If anybody could be blamed, it was Dick for not making sure all variables had been accounted for. It had been his job to make sure nothing was overlooked.

He angrily kicked a can out of his way, barely catching himself before he fell facefirst onto the increasingly slippery pavement.

There were a lot of things Dick blamed himself for when it came to Wally. Not making time to hang out as they got older and took on more responsibilities, putting Artemis in danger despite Wally's protestations, not being able to save him. Hell, Dick had never even worked up the nerve to tell him how he really felt. At the time, Dick had justified his silence by not wanting to ruin what was left of their friendship because he just _knew_ that there was no way Wally felt the same way. Wally had never shown the slightest inclination toward men, except maybe that time M'gann morphed into a genderbent version of him but that didn't really count because, you know, _M'gann_.

Dick had filled that hole in his life however he could; girls, boys, a few nonbinary people because _hot damn_ some of those folks were attractive. Any relationships beyond the level of casual sex eventually fell apart. There had been a thing going on with Barbara for a while that might have eventually blossomed into a relationship, but they hadn't spoken in months. Dick had hooked up with a few people since the Reach invaders were… heh, _outvaded_… but there had been no real connection with any of them, not even that one guy he'd slept with because he had red hair and green eyes.

It had struck Dick in the aftermath of that little disaster that all he had accomplished in keeping his silence was make himself miserable. It didn't matter that he had been afraid of losing Wally. He lost him anyway. It was that thought more than any others that Dick attributed to the increase in his drinking. It wasn't hard for a Bat to acquire alcohol while underage; Tim could probably do it just as easily if he were so inclined. Jason most certainly had.

Coming out here had been a mistake. Dick was cold and off his face and miserable. He should've just stuck his head out the window if he'd wanted fresh air.

But as he went to take a shortcut through a nearby alleyway, a commotion caught his attention: a bunch of men manhandling a woman into a van. Dick could count five kidnappers. He could take them, easy, even in his state of inebriation. The police always took far too long to respond to 911 calls in this part of town, so that wasn't an option even if he hadn't left his phone in the apartment.

He slammed the nearest jerk's head against the car, knocking him out, before anybody noticed him.

"Take the girl and get out of here," the next guy told the others, pulling a knife. Dick weaved around him and slammed his shoulder into one of the men still trying to shove the woman into the car. He lost track of the knife while regaining his balance and grabbed the attacker's wrist mere inches away from his face.

"Cute," Dick said, jerking the man's wrist sideways until he yelped and dropped the knife. He noticed the woman running away out of the corner of his eye, but the men were too focused on Dick to pay her any mind. Good.

One of the guys was climbing into the front seat for something, probably a gun, so Dick dragged him out by the ankle onto the pavement and knocked him out with a kick to the face. The knife guy was nearly at the mouth of the alleyway by the time Dick had finished taking down the rest, but when he made a few steps to pursue him, a sharp pain shot up his thigh.

Damn it, that knife-wielding bastard had gotten him after all. He couldn't see the wound through all the blood, but feeling around led him to the hole in his pants. It had to be around there, right?

Dick fell against the car as the world seemed to ripple around him, tearing the scarf from his neck and trying to tie it around where he guessed the wound was. His hands were trembling and couldn't grip the damn thing properly and he couldn't get it tight enough and oh God—

"Okay," Dick breathed. He had to calm down, think things through. Where could he go? The police station was too far and there were no hospitals nearby, either. The closest place was his apartment, where he'd left the emergency button Bruce had shoved into his hands a few months ago. That'd have to do. With the use of zeta technology, help would arrive quicker than if he called an ambulance from there anyway. _Damn it_, how could he have forgotten his phone?

Gritting his teeth, Dick pushed off the car and stumbled into the wall, nearly slipping in a puddle of slush. Of all the nights for it to snow…

He made it to the end of the alley and kept a hand on the nearest wall. He knew a few more shortcuts that would make the trip quicker, provided he didn't get confused due to the unholy combination of alcohol and blood loss. If he survived the night, he was never drinking again. Fighting while under the influence had to be one of the dumbest decisions he'd made. Not quite as dumb as not trusting his teammates with Kaldur and Artemis' undercover assignment, granted, but it was pretty hard to screw up worse than that.

One foot in front of the other, he inched his way painfully back to his apartment. He couldn't afford to be stopped, so he used the fire escape, nearly passing out from the exertion, and barely remembered to input his security code to open the window before falling inside. Slamming the window shut again conjured black spots in his vision and his knees buckled, forcing him to crawl to his bedside table where he kept the panic button. At this point, help would probably come too late and he'd be meeting Wally again in mere minutes.

He swiped fruitlessly for a few precious moments before he dimly noticed the shiny plastic button clatter to the floor. His vision was almost entirely gone by the time he had the thing in his fingers and his head dropped to the floor before he could press it.

* * *

He awoke in a haze. Something warm was on top of him. A blanket? He cracked his eyes open, flinching at the sunlight bearing down on him through the window. He was still on his room; the panic button had been placed back on his bedside table. He didn't remember pressing it, but Bruce was leaning against the dresser, watching him.

"Hi," Dick rasped. He cleared his throat. Bruce just frowned at him. There was definitely a lecture in the works. At least he had the courtesy to wait until Dick was more awake after passing out from blood loss.

The bedroom door creaked open to reveal Alfred carrying a tray, which had most certainly not originated in Dick's apartment, on which sat a glass of water and a steaming bowl of what was probably soup. Tim loitered in the doorway, returning the small wave Dick gave him.

"Drink," Alfred said, holding the glass to Dick's lips. Once he's drunk enough, he set the glass aside and picked up the bowl. "I expect all of this to be eaten, Master Dick." Dick knew better than to complain, even though his stomach felt wobbly and not ready for food at all. His head was pounding a little, but the pain was minimal and the same went for his leg. Alfred had probably dosed him with pain meds while he was still unconscious.

Alfred slowly spoon-fed him the soup, taking breaks for Dick to get his nausea under control. Bruce started making impatient noises about halfway through, but Alfred silenced him with a look before sending Tim for more water. Dick got the feeling Alfred was deliberately feeding him slowly just to make Bruce wait. Dick half-wanted to know what Bruce had done to earn Alfred's ire, but he was mostly content to live in ignorance while Alfred stalled the inevitable for him.

Eventually, the soup was gone and Dick had drained the rest of the water and he kind of needed to pee but that would have to wait until Bruce had said his piece. The man looked about ready to explode as it was.

Bruce shoved the door shut after Tim and Alfred left and fixed Dick with the strongest batglare he'd experienced in years. "Do you have a death-wish, Dick?"

Dick shifted into a more attentive sitting position. This… probably wasn't the best time to talk.

Fortunately, Bruce didn't seem to expect an answer. "What you did was extremely irresponsible. You know the risks. What made you thinking leaving your apartment in the dead of the night while under the influence of alcohol was a good idea? You could have _died_, Dick. You would have died if we had taken any longer to find you. At least you had the presence of mind to tie a shirt around your—"

"A shirt?" Dick interrupted, braving the dangerous look on Bruce's face. "I'm pretty sure I used a scarf."

Bruce threw some red fabric at him that was stiff with dried blood, which Dick unravelled into the shape of a t-shirt. "This isn't even in my size, Bruce."

"Do you remember anybody assisting you?"

"No, I still had a scarf tied around my leg when I got back here," Dick replied. "This must've happened when I was unconscious. Whoever tied this probably pressed the panic button, too. I didn't get any further than grabbing it before I blacked out."

Bruce crossed to the window, frowning. "Did you trigger the alarm on your window?"

Dick shook his head. "It must've rung itself out."

"Or the intruder knew how to turn it off." Bruce reset the alarm. "I'll do a sweep of the apartment."

"Don't tell me you didn't do one already."

"Of course I did." Bruce marched out of the room. Dick wriggled out of bed, grimacing at the quick pang in his leg. He limped over to his drawers and pulled out a pair of loose trackpants to accommodate the new bandage. He'd barely gotten them on when Bruce returned to report none of the other security measures had been tripped. Dick wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned.

"Not much we can do about it now, I suppose," Dick sighed. "Unless you think dusting for fingerprints on the window will actually come up with results."

Bruce examined the glass. "Unlikely."

"Perhaps the best solution would be to relocate to Wayne Manor?" Alfred suggested from the doorway. "It is still Christmas."

"I'd… rather not." Dick managed to avoid cringing by a hair. He'd already refused Alfred once, and even that had made him feel guilty.

"Dick…"

"Bruce, I'm not going to make the same mistake twice, even if I could go anywhere with this leg."

"All the more reason to join us, sir," said Alfred.

"If you need help getting around—"

"I'm sorry, but no." Dick winced at the bite in his voice. "I haven't changed my mind since you two asked me last. As far as mobility goes, I'm better off in this apartment than at the manor anyway. I'll be fine."

"You haven't been fine in months, Dick," Bruce said gruffly. His voice got like that sometimes when he needed to discuss _feelings_.

"Bruce, no. We are not doing this."

"It's become obvious that we have to. I know Wally's death—"

"You're not convincing me to come back to the manor with you," Dick snapped. "I don't want to be around people today and I don't appreciate you trying to force me into it."

"Bruce," Tim piped up from behind Alfred, nervously rubbing the back of his neck even as he did so. "Dick decided he didn't want to come over weeks ago. Shouldn't we respect that?"

It was odd to see such a large man deflate in defeat. "I… you're right. I'm sorry, Dick." He started for the doorway, which Alfred vacated. "I expect you to attend the New Year's party, even if for a short while."

"If I must," Dick muttered. Bruce must've heard him, but didn't comment. Tim came forward when he was out of sight, hiding something behind his back.

"I brought your present." He shoved a brightly-wrapped box into Dick's hands. "See you on New Year's?"

"I suppose." Tim was a hard person to say no to. The kid was gone before Dick had done more than lift a corner of wrapping held down by tape. Remembering that he needed to pee, Dick set the present aside and took care of that before limping back to his bedroom and plopping himself back down on the edge of his bed.

Dick made short work of the rest of the paper, lifting a photo album out of the box inside. Of course. The earlier photos must have been supplied by Alfred as the featured Batman and Robin, the latter still in his pixie-boots phase and striking increasingly ridiculous poses. Alfred had managed to catch Batman cracking a few smiles. Despite his sour mood, Dick found himself smiling a little at the photos as he turned the pages.

At least, until Wally started showing up in them. Tim had probably thought having photos of him would help, so Dick couldn't bring himself to blame him for the pit that had opened up in his stomach. By the time he reached the first photo taken of the original team, Wally all smiles and _alive_ and _whole_, Dick felt like his insides had been sucked away. He slammed the book shut and tossed it aside.

All at once, the mystery of who had saved his life didn't even matter anymore. All he could feel towards that person was a dull sort of resentment for taking away his chance to see Wally again. He'd never had the stomach to take matters into his own hands, but right now all that scrambling to survive last night seemed pointless.

Maybe this whole being alone on Christmas thing hadn't been such a good idea after all.

The alarm on his window jerked him out of his melancholy in time to watch somebody—a speedster?—phase right through the glass and into the bedroom. The newcomer rolled his green—wait, green?—eyes and shut off the alarm with the correct code, which Dick didn't give out to just anyone.

"Sorry about that," Wally said. Dick let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding.

"You can phase through things now?" was the first thing that came out of his mouth. "That's, uh, new."

"Yeah." Wally looked back at the window, grimacing slightly. "Still working out the kinks. It's more complicated than I—wait. You thought I was dead for months and _that's_ the first thing you say?"

God, it was Wally standing right in front of him, speaking and looking at him like he'd grown another head and it was just so _Wally_ that, despite his leg, Dick was on him in seconds, his hands gripping Wally's hair and their lips pressed roughly against each other. Wally jerked slightly but didn't push him away.

Dick's brain finally caught up to his body and he backed off, bumping into the chest of drawers.

"So, uh," Dick grabbed the now-laundered red t-shirt—when had Alfred found the time to head down to the basement laundry?—and shoved it into Wally's hands. "I take it that belongs to you."

"Well, yeah, but—"

"So, thanks for saving my ass, I guess."

"You're welcome," Wally replied. "But, uh, can we talk about what just happened?"

"No."

"Oh, screw you, it was a very nice reception," Wally said anyway. "I don't know if Arty'll be as nice to me. But, yeah, uh, very nice and I wouldn't mind doing it again… you know, if my girlfriend doesn't want to murder me for it."

"Wait, wait, wait, you haven't seen Artemis yet?"

"I haven't talked to anyone but you."

"Why me? Not that I'm not grateful to you for saving my life, but it doesn't really make sense that you'd see me before you even talked to your family or your girlfriend."

Wally helped Dick hop over to the bed. "I checked on all of you," he explained, "and, well, you kind of seemed the worst off so I thought I'd tell you first. Well, that was the plan until I found you bleeding out on your bedroom floor. I pressed the button you were holding, just in case you hadn't, and did what I could to stop the bleeding until Bruce showed up. I didn't want him interrogating me yet, especially not when you were nearly dead."

"Fair enough, I guess," said Dick. "Now I'm doing the interrogating and I want to know how the hell you're even alive right now."

"Well, obviously the chrysalis energy didn't kill me," Wally said, pacing around the room like he needed to let off excess energy. "I think I must've gotten thrown a few months into the future. When Bart went back in time, he had a time machine to protect him, which is just as well because the laws of physics as we know them today technically don't allow for travelling into the past and even people who theorise we can don't think we can travel back before the invention of the first time machine so I don't even know how he accomplished _that_ and he probably wouldn't have survived if he hadn't had—"

"Wally, focus."

"Right. Well, however the chrysalis energy threw me forward in time, I think it might've transferred some of that energy to me, which must've unlocked my ability to phase through things and I think I might be faster now, too, which makes sense since—"

"Hush, Wally. That's all I needed to know." Dick stuck out his good leg to stop Wally's pacing. "You really should look in on Artemis and your family."

"What if I wanted to stay here a while?"

"And leave them in the dark? That's not very nice."

"No, I…" Wally let out a long sigh. "Look, I'll tell them eventually. I just think we have some other things to talk about first. Like the fact you totally just jumped on me before. I mean, I already said it was nice so that's not even the issue. I just wanted to, you know, talk about why that happened."

"I'd rather not."

"_Dick_."

"Look, it shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry."

Wally put his hands up. "I'm not complaining."

"That's not—ugh. I just got… overwhelmed, okay?"

"You know I'm not going anywhere until you explain that."

Dick buried his face in his hands, barely stifling a scream. When he came back up, Wally was still watching him. God damn it to hell.

"I… okay, if you laugh at me, I will punch you in the dick. Got it?"

"You're gonna punch yourself?"

Dick gritted his teeth. "Don't start with me."

"Okay, sorry. I won't laugh." Wally joined Dick on the bed, plastering an innocent smile on his face that made Dick want to hit him even more.

He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times before he finally got the words out. "I'm in love with you," he murmured. "Have been for years."

"I—oh. Oh, Dick. God. I'm so—"

"Don't," Dick snapped. "I don't want your sympathy."

"I'm just… I'm sorry I didn't—"

"I don't want apologies, either. I don't want anything from you."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Why would I?" Dick no longer felt empty; his insides were full of molten lava and directionless rage that had to go somewhere before it burnt him alive. "You never showed any real interest in men and there was no way in hell I was going to risk losing you as a friend in the interest of honesty or whatever the hell you think the reason for me telling you should've been. So whatever bullshit you're going to pull out next, forget it. I don't want to hear it."

"But—"

"Just leave." Dick was barely able to avoid shouting. This wasn't Wally's fault but that didn't change the fact that Dick was practically choking on anger that had no real purpose.

"Dick—"

"Stop. Just stop."

"I… okay." Wally crossed to the window, already putting in the code to shut off the sensors. "Okay."

Dick didn't watch him leave. The anger was already abating, leaving nothing but shame and self-loathing in its wake. He curled into a ball and buried his face in the pillow.

* * *

"Dick. Dick, wake up."

Dick groaned and swatted at the hand ruffling his hair. Why wouldn't people just leave him alone?

"Dick, come on." The voice was familiar. Dick had spent a good amount of time cutting it off and snapping at its owner.

"Ugh, Wally?" Dick cracked an eye open to find the offender leaning over him. "I thought I told you to leave."

"I did." Wally folded himself onto the floor to be level with Dick's face. "And now I'm back."

"…why?"

Wally folded his arms on the edge of the bed and rested his chin on them, his face uncomfortably close to Dick's. "Because, I noticed, you're the only person out of everyone I've visited who is spending Christmas alone. We can't have that, now can we?"

"Alone by choice," Dick muttered, shoving his face back into the pillow.

"Do you ever get tired of punishing yourself?" Wally asked.

Dick just groaned at him.

"Whatever. We've still got a few hours of Christmas left and you're stuck with me. And if you try to drive me off again because you have serious self-esteem issues that could put a therapist's kids through college, I will force-feed you gingerbread. Aunt Iris gave me a whole bunch and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Oh, I'm trembling with terror."

"What was that? Your pillow is eating everything you say."

Dick lifted his head and blew a raspberry. "You're a very scary person, Wally."

"Damn straight. Unlike me."

Dick rolled his eyes.

"Hey, don't do that. Just because I've only dated women doesn't mean I have to be all boring and hetero."

"Well, last time I checked you're still in a relationship with a woman so you can't exactly act on it without cheating on her. And you don't want to cheat on her if you want to have children someday."

"Dude, ever heard of polyamory? I talked to her. She's cool with it, as long as we all share."

"You… oh my God." Dick's face hit the pillow so hard his nose started tingling. "You _didn't_."

"I did. I… may have also mentioned you had a near-death experience and really should have a babysitter."

"Oh, please."

"It's true. You lost a lot of blood and I have no idea how you managed to get your Bruce and Alfred off your back about it. You should probably have some food and water right now. Here, eat." He shoved the cookie into Dick's hand. "I'll get you some water."

Trying to eat the gingerbread with a dry mouth was like chewing carpet. Dick downed half the glass Wally brought him before finishing the cookie. Wally snagged a few for himself and climbed over Dick to the sliver of space by the wall.

When the cookies were all gone, Wally pulled Dick closer to his body. "Hey, little spoon."

"You're lucky you just fed me, or I'd smack you for that."

"Shh, be nice. Think nice thoughts, like puppies and kittens and—I don't know—justice."

Dick could suppress a small smile. Maybe he could get used to this. Maybe there really was a future for the two of them and Artemis.

"Merry Christmas, Dick," Wally whispered in ear.

"Merry Christmas, Wally," Dick replied, closing his eyes and letting Wally's warmth lull him back to sleep.


End file.
